“Take the bedroom,” Jeff said.
“I’m not gonna argue,” Loreen answered. She picked up the overnight bag she’d left near the hall entrance and left us alone.
Jeff took out several sticks of Big Red, then offered me the pack. I accepted, needing to rid my mouth of the taste of beer.
After he’d chewed his gum for several seconds, he said, “Tell DeShay everything you’ve learned tomorrow. I doubt this notebook is still around, but you said they stored everything from the house, and a search is worth a shot. Maybe Christine kept names as well as phone numbers.”
“And I could find out if any of those people in the notebook had a baby around the same time as Christine by checking birth records from that year.”
“Good circumstantial evidence, but that won’t promise a happy reunion for your client. A lot can happen in fifteen years.”
I put my hand behind his neck and pulled him close so our lips were almost touching. “You are such a pessimist, you probably never put anything away for a rainy day, ’cause you’re always expecting a drought.”
He smiled, and we were about ready to exchange gum when my cell rang.
I saw from the caller ID that it was Aunt Caroline, and groaned.
“Bet I know who that is.” Jeff picked up our glasses and headed for the kitchen.
“Better answer or she’ll fill up my voice mail box.” I opened the phone and said hello.
“Abby, where are you?” she said.
“Um… someplace.”
“I know that much. But you’re not at home, because I’ve driven by three times. You need to get over here now.”
“It’s late. What can I do for you?” I asked.
“I have something of dire importance to share with you. Please come over.”
Everything with her is always of dire importance, but I tried to sound nice when I said, “Can we do this in the morning?”
She was silent for a good ten seconds, and I knew I’d pissed her off. “If you don’t care about your sister ruining her life, then fine.”
“What are you talking about?” But, of course, this had to be about Clint Roark.
“This man she’s seeing is not who he says he is, and I have proof.”
She’d hired a detective to follow Jeff when I first started dating him, and this sounded like she was up to her old tricks. “If you’re talking about the man’s ex-wife and son, Kate knows about them.”
“It’s not a son. It’s a daughter. And his name is not Clinton Roark. It Harrison Foster.”
Now she had my attention. “What have you done, Aunt Caroline? You haven’t told Kate about this, have you?”
“No, nothing like that. We need to face her with the facts together. Two voices are better than one, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Let me sleep on this and come over to your place tomorrow morning around ten and you can tell me what you’ve got. Then we can talk to Kate.” That would at least give me a little time to find out about this man myself and why he chose to use a fake name-if, in fact, Aunt Caroline had this right.
“That would work. Yes, I like that idea.” The line went dead, and I stared at the phone before I snapped it shut.
“That your aunt Caroline?” Jeff said when he rejoined me at the table.
“Yes. Seems the man Kate is dating may not be who he says he is. This might mean trouble if Kate gets all defensive about Clint Roark. Gosh, my sister is dating-”
“Not who he says he is? What does that mean?” He’d slipped into detective mode as easily as if he’d put on an old slipper.
“Aunt Caroline says his real name is Harrison Foster. You think he might be some kind of con man? Or maybe someone with a criminal record who changed his name?” I was getting nervous now, and was anxious to get home and find out what I could about this guy.
Jeff said, “Maybe he’s both. Or it could be he stole someone’s identity-not good news any way you look at it. But, of course, you’re talking to a police officer. The pessimist with a dark view of the world.”
“My picture was in the paper right after the bones were found. The caption identified me as ‘Heiress-turned-detective Abby Rose.’ Someone may have seen that word
“True,” Jeff said. “It’s no secret that thieves and predators read newspapers looking for vulnerable victims, although usually they check the obits, not the headlines.”
“Why didn’t he come after me?”
“Maybe you’re a little too visible right now.”
“True,” I said. “And his endgame is to get money out of Kate?”
“I think you’ve already figured that out, hon.”
“Dammit. I should have checked up on him myself.” I grabbed a napkin and spit out the now flavorless glob of gum.
“My opinion? Aunt Caroline was the best person for that job,” Jeff said. “You should be grateful.”
“For once, I am. And now I plan to find out everything I can about this guy before I walk into Aunt Caroline’s house tomorrow.”
When I arrived home, I went upstairs, peeked into Kate’s room and found her already asleep, with Webster curled at her feet. I was hoping that meant she hadn’t been out with Roark or Foster or whoever the hell this man was. I shed my clothes, put on one of Jeff’s T-shirts and headed back down to my computer, shushing the meowing Diva, who followed me.
I booted up and used the database I rely on when all else fails. I had two names, a city, an approximate age and a line of work for Roark. I immediately learned that the only Clinton Roark in the area was retired and lived in Huntsville. Harrison Foster, on the other hand, had two known addresses in Houston-one an apartment and one a home in the Memorial Park area. I was able to learn some of this because his wife had filed for divorce two months ago, and initial divorce filings are public record. Her name was Beth, and she was seeking sole custody of their child.
I also learned that Harrison Foster was not a drug rep, but owned his own software development company specializing in medical office and hospital products. If Aunt Caroline had Foster followed, it would have been easy enough for any PI to find all this out. He was probably living in the apartment, since the lease was signed around the same time Beth Foster had filed for divorce.
I sat back and considered why this man would want to con Kate. My guess was that he would take a financial beating in this divorce and wanted to hook up with someone who could help him continue to live the lifestyle he’d grown accustomed to. And Kate could certainly do that.
Had he planned to cheat her out of a generous chunk of change and split? I smiled. Yeah, he must think Kate was as dumb as a box of rocks and that she’d invest in whatever fake new drug or nonexistent business he’d enthusiastically told her about. But he’d hit on the wrong girl if he thought that would work. Even if she’d fallen with a thud for this guy, she was too smart to buy a black cat with a stripe down its back from anyone, Mr. Dimples included.
I felt better now, even though telling Kate wouldn’t be easy. And making sure Aunt Caroline didn’t tell her first might be like trying to drink out of a fire hose. But I’d deal with that tomorrow, after I found exactly what Aunt Caroline had on Harrison Foster.
25
The next day I overslept and had time for only a quick shower. Kate had long since gone to work by the time I left to hand over the newest GPS tracker to DeShay, and I was relieved not to have to face her this morning, knowing what I now knew.
I checked under my car bumpers before I pulled out, but found nothing. I decided it was long past time to organize the garage so I could actually fit my car in there. Leaving the Camry in my driveway had obviously created serious problems. It really boiled my water that someone had been lurking around and stuck those things on my car whenever they wanted. I still suspected Kravitz, no matter what he said to the contrary.
I drove downtown, and DeShay was ready for me, since I’d called ahead-if
“This afternoon,” he told me.
“Bummer,” I said. The one thing DeShay hated about working homicide was the dress-up part. I gave him the plastic grocery bag containing the second GPS device.
“You think you can find any prints on this besides mine?” I asked.
“Doubt it, but we’ll try. Even the batteries had been wiped clean on the other one. I talked to tech this morning, and they said whoever planted the thing buried the e-mail address they used to connect to the Internet and watch where you went.”
“Having both devices might be more helpful, especially if tech can find a common link,” I said. “E-mail is very tricky, yes, but if you search-”
“Abby, what did you call me and Jeff once? Luddites?”
I laughed. “Yes. You remembered the lingo. That’s a step in the right direction.”
“I know how to write reports, check databases and stuff like that on my computer, but I’m still a Luddite and don’t plan on changing until the bosses make me. Jeff told me something I’ve never forgotten. He said technology is a great tool, but us homicide investigators have to deal with the people first. Murder is a people problem, and you learn the most from the humans, whether they’re dead or alive.”
“Jeff’s right. Now, get ready to hear some good news in the people department. I found Christine’s friend-the ex-prostitute.” I summarized yesterday, told him Loreen, aka Fiona, was holed up with Jeff. I also gave him the info on the notebook. “After I deal with my aunt, who is probably feeling very neglected since I started working this case day and night, I’ll call Emma, see if she remembers any notebook like the one Loreen described.”
“White can handle that,” DeShay said.
“No, I can do it. I’ll go over to the storage unit with Emma and-”
“Abby, handing over the GPS monitor is one thing, but that notebook could lead us directly to whoever might have killed Christine. We could use it in court, and we don’t want to mess with the chain of evidence.”
I knew he was right. “It’s just that I promised Loreen no police. If White does find the notebook, then-”
